


Our Love Kills

by Jakathine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage and Discipline, Complete, Consensual Sex, Daddy Kink, Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, Object Penetration, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Psychological Torture, Restraints, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Sex, Sexual Abuse, assassin!john, courtesan!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakathine/pseuds/Jakathine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a highly trained assassin who happens to venture to a brothel one evening to satisfy himself. Not to be given any sort of cheap bender, a nickname for male courtesans, John pays top price and is introduced to Sherlock, an intriguing bender on whom John soon has his heart and mind set upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hookah smoke drifted lazily around the room as John stepped into the Treasure Trove, pulling his mask down from his face.

“Hullo there, sire, how may I be of assistance?” a semi-chubby young man asked as he straightened behind his desk and placed the hookah he had been dredging on off to one side.

John quietly put a stack of three gold pieces on the counter and requested, “I want the best bender you have here.”

The desk clerk smiled, as if knowing exactly the right type John wanted, before taking each of the gold coins and biting them firmly to check that they were genuine. Satisfied, the clerk stood and made his way around the desk, beckoning John to follow him up the stairwell of the right hand side of the brothel. John followed the clerk up the stairs and down the hall to a door that was labeled 221 Suite B. John looked dubiously at the clerk.

“And your best is in here?” John asked.

“Oh yes.” The clerk replied, a hint of a playful smirk on his lips as he purposefully scanned John head to toe, “I know it is because he only just arrived here a month ago. Although he’s been taken only twice so far he still acts quite the virgin. He’s roughly around twenty-five years old, give or take since I don’t know his exact age. The name is Sherlock Holmes and I am sure you two will get along quite well. If you need me there’s a tether on the wall just inside the room. Tug on it and it'll ring a bell for me at the front desk, love.”

John’s breath caught in his throat. Not only the best courtesan could he think of to have for the night but a near virginal one at that. John thanked the clerk who then scampered off cheerily down the hall before turning to face the door. Carefully, he turned the knob and revealed a luscious purple and blue king size bed nestled in a black-and-white wallpaper clad room. John noticed even the bed itself was made from the darkest of oaks; a tribute that John could only think went to how talented this beginning courtesan already was.

“Hello.” A sultry baritone voice called out from an armchair swathed in shadows on the far end of the room, Sherlock’s delicate looking feet the only part visible “I take it that you are my client?”

John removed the long dark grey green coat he wore and hung it on a coat hook before he took the belt from around his waist. He then removed a shiv from the back of each of his boots and placed it down alongside the belt on an awaiting weapons basket set near a dresser by the bed, “Yes, I am. Come out so that I may see you.”

A slight fluttering of clothing and a soft sigh of relieved weight from the chair could be heard and then emerged from the shadows the most beautiful sight John had ever seen. Sherlock was taller than him by a good half-head despite the fact John was at least a decade older, and had high sharp cheekbones that appeared sharper than the shiv John had just relinquished. The bender’s skin was alabaster, seemingly glowing in the faint dusk light emitting from the window. What truly drew John’s attention however were Sherlock’s eyes. They settled daintily on the high cheekbones, causing a slight slant that John found quite attractive. The color itself was a marvel, with it fluctuating between green and blue and sometimes a blend of the two from one moment to the next.

As John studied Sherlock, Sherlock in turned studied John. Sherlock deduced that the man had to be an assassin, with the amount of armory he had laid down upon entering but his interest was particularly piqued by the amount of awe held in John’s eyes. So far Sherlock had only served two other clients but neither had been of any particular interest. In fact, they had been quite boring and sloppy. Sherlock had thought he would have fallen asleep during his intercourse with both had it not been for the slaps that occurred intermittingly.  This client though was observing him up and down, as if drinking in every detail. Sherlock surprised himself by blushing lightly, causing the client to laugh.

“I know your name is Sherlock. Mine’s John.” The client said, sticking his hand out as if their meeting was a formal arrangement.

Sherlock eyed the hand warily and then shook it. John smiled again and then gently added pressure to his grip to haul Sherlock into his lap. Sherlock, taken off guard by the power the smaller man had, promptly fell into John’s lap, rather ungainly for his blue robe slipped, causing the small sash to loosen and reveal his chest and abdomen. John took the sash in his hand and slipped it from the robe’s loop, making the rest of the robe open to expose completely Sherlock’s nude body underneath. John ran a hand on the veins of Sherlock’s neck, stroking in meandering patterns and making his way slowly down to Sherlock’s nipples, which had perked with the sudden cool air across them. Upon reaching them he took Sherlock’s right nipple between his thumb and forefinger and began to pinch and tease, making Sherlock shiver. The last two lovers did not do this and Sherlock reveled in the slow ease John had begun. It was interesting, this slightly rough looking assassin being so gentle, his hands, half-calloused from leather dagger handles, deftly tweaking soft flesh but only to a certain pleasuring point and nothing more.  

Sherlock could not help but shake, for the light touches had aroused him to a point of actual want. It dawned on Sherlock suddenly this may be how this John fellow operates. Making benders like him want the cock instead of just having to take it. John must have sensed Sherlock’s sudden awareness for he laid down the bender onto the soft sheets and positioned himself above Sherlock. He tilted his head, liking the enticing view of an erect cock lying against pale skin and a maiden-like blush spread across the face of Sherlock, whose eyes had also darkened to a lustful blue in the course of John’s touching. John stroked Sherlock’s face before sitting up and unbuckling an undervest he wore and slipping it and his dark green shirt off, leaving him in merely dark pants and his boots, which he then kicked off and threw off to the side. Sherlock lay transfixed by a large scar on John’s left shoulder. John followed Sherlock’s gaze and merely shrugged, leaning down to kiss the nape of Sherlock’s neck while unbuckling his trousers.

Sherlock watched John slowly removed the trousers to reveal a thick, already beading pre-cum, erection that made him even more aroused. John noticed and smirked at Sherlock. Next to the bed, on a short table, was a squat round glass container of lubrication oil. John reached over and opened its hinged lid to dip two fingers into the mixture, drawing out a generous amount and then inserting his fingers into Sherlock. John moved steadily as he fingered and stretched Sherlock, albeit he did not have to be stretched very much but John did enjoy seeing the slight pleasured blush creep onto Sherlock’s face as he continued to extract and insert his fingers playfully. Satisfied now that Sherlock was positively pulsating with need, John propped Sherlock’s legs up and wide, angling so that his cock was aligned with Sherlock’s entrance before sliding himself in.

John, although an assassin, was not a cruel lover, not even to prostitutes so he asked briefly, “OK?”

Sherlock nodded his consent and John then went at it full force, giving heavy thrusts into Sherlock and causing Sherlock to moan loudly and the bed to creak softly. Sherlock started to pant heavily in an effort to contain himself but with a few more deep thrusts from John he could no longer hold back and came with a loud moan that echoed in the room. John chuckled, pleased with the pure ecstasy washing over Sherlock’s face as he withdrew. John let Sherlock ride the orgasm and upon finishing motioned for Sherlock to finish him off. John lay back on the bed, propped up against the pillows, as Sherlock slid between his legs and took John’s cock into his mouth, licking and sucking with as much force as he could muster. John moaned and wrung a hand through Sherlock’s hair and gave it a slight pull downwards so to place more of his length into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock complied and readily let John’s cock slide more into his mouth, even to the point that it neared the back of his throat without Sherlock gagging. John shook and with a soft curse climaxed into Sherlock’s awaiting mouth. Sherlock took a minute to readjust his position before swallowing the hot semen coursing down his throat and licking the residuals from his lips.

John reached down to wipe a small bit that had dripped down the side of Sherlock’s chin before pushing Sherlock off and standing to stretch his now fully relaxed muscles and get dressed. After he had finished dressing, John turned to Sherlock, whose eyes were slightly darkened with residual lust, and smiled lopsidedly before placing a silver coin on the bedside table. Sherlock looked confused.

“You were quite good and obedient. Mikey was right to say that you were a pretty good bender, even though you’re just starting out.” John commented upon seeing Sherlock’s confusion.

Sherlock opened his mouth to ask John a question but John held up a hand, “Unlike some other lovers, I choose not to stay the night. The coin is for you and your service. Mayhap I’ll visit you again. Until that time though, I am gone. Have a job to do.” He said the last bit as he crossed the room and gathered his weapons belt and refastened it around his waist and slid the two shivs back into their rightful places in the back of his boots before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

Sherlock tried to hear John’s foot steps treading down the stairs but could not and wondered quietly to himself if John really would come back one day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Six months later:

_______________________________________

“Ah, hello again.” Mikey said, smiling as John entered the Treasure Trove, “He’s available today.”

“Hello.” John replied, flashing a quick smile and placing three gold pieces on the counter, “Good. Just who I wanted to see.”

Mikey did the routine of checking to see if the gold was genuine as John looked around the parlor. There were not many people here in the room save for an older woman, who looked to be near her early sixties and a gentleman that John instantly recognized as a copper. John turned away slightly so his face was not hidden away from the direction of the copper, and eavesdropped ever the slightest on the conversation.

“….Anyways, that’s all I know Mr. Lestrade.” The older woman said, standing up and patting down the front of her dress from what John could assume to be crumbs.

“Thank ya much, Madam Hudson.” Lestrade said, tipping his dark blue copper hat before exiting out of the brothel without so much a glance in John’s direction.

“Right this way, sir.” Mikey commented, giving John a knowing look.

John followed Mikey up the steps to door of 221 Suite B and nodded his thanks. Mikey walked back down the stairs as John opened the door. The room was eerily quiet, John thought as he looked around for Sherlock. His eyes were drawn to the corner of the room, swathed again in shadow for this time John had come at night, with moonlight from the waxing gibbous moon giving illumination to the room, and spotted the foot of Sherlock rocking gently back and forth as though at some inaudible tune.

“So you did come back.” Sherlock commented and John thought he heard a bit of petulance.

“I told you I would.” John replied as closed and locked the door before taking off his weaponry and setting it to the side.

Sherlock stood with a flourish and John saw in the light that he was wearing a crimson robe today. John also noticed that the robe had fallen open to reveal that Sherlock was wearing a black silk shift that clung to his slender form quite well. John swallowed at the sight as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock walked over and straddled John’s waist, nuzzling into the nape of John’s neck and pressing soft kisses in on the side, “All the others are so boring; so simple-minded. You’re different; fascinating.”

John pulled Sherlock off from where he had begun to nibble on his neck so they could look one another in the eye, “And you are extremely inquisitive and insightful.” John searched Sherlock’s face, “Something I’m trying to figure out is why you’re here. You do not talk like a normal prostitute would whatsoever. I did research on you while away.”

At the last sentence Sherlock froze entirely and attempted to slip away but John held him firmly in place and continued on, “I looked in all sorts of crevices for information about you. I did see someone today that confirmed my suspicions.”

Sherlock swallowed in an attempt to hide the building nervousness. He had attempted his best but evidently his best did not pass by this master assassin’s notice.

John surged on with his speech, “I saw a copper downstairs, in the parlor talking to your house mother, Madam Hudson. Apparently, from what I can tell, she had given him some information. Now, the only time I have seen coppers in these parts getting info from ladies such as her is if there’s been someone on the inside doing reconnoiter work. I believe that person to be you.”

Sherlock sputtered, “M-me?”

John nodded slowly and tightened his grip on Sherlock so the taller man could not have any leverage to move away with. John held a steady gaze with Sherlock, as if daring him to argue with his assumption. Sherlock knew the ruse was up and sighed. At this, John released him.

“Tell me, everything. If I think you’re lying, I will not hesitate to kill you and I will make sure it looks like a terrible occurrence were you somehow went into a mad fit before dying suddenly.” John stated.

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide and he begun to tell John the truth. About ten months ago, a man of importance in the higher sector of the government had become fond of prostitutes despite being married and having a passel of children. This said man of importance was also known on the copper knowledge as a smuggler from a tip off but they had little evidence to hold against him for the mole who had leaked this information had been quickly killed by a hired hand. Sherlock revealed to John that he indeed worked alongside the coppers as the courtesan, for he truly was one that had just started out and could be useful to the coppers,gathering information where he could from clients who visited his bedchamber and were foolish enough, as most were, to speak of secrets in front of him.  Sherlock then pleaded with John to not reveal him else wise all progress would be lost and he could end up killed should the wrong person find out who he was and why he was here.

John picked at the silken shift Sherlock wore and ran the material betwixt his fingers, pondering on the information Sherlock had told him before saying, “I will not tell. In exchange, however, I will visit you time to time and you will tell me everything you know.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, rebellion jumping to his lips, when he felt a long thin dagger blade pressed to the small of his back. Stunned, Sherlock held still, wondering where John could have hidden the weapon. John nicked the small of Sherlock’s back with the tip of the blade before standing up, causing Sherlock to fall on his arse with a resounding thump.

“This blade…” John held up the ominous black bladed dagger, “Is tainted with poison. I have the antidote but first you must swear fealty to this bargain before I decide to let you live.”

Sherlock swallowed the lump of nervousness that had built up, thinking that John could be lying. The sudden itch in his palms and chill down his spine spoke otherwise. John calmly sat back down on the bed and crossed his legs expectantly. Sherlock, thin-lipped, scooted away from the edge of the bed to distance himself as much as possible from John and felt his back hit the dresser. John watched him steadily before getting up and striding across the distance to pick Sherlock up by the shoulders. Despite Sherlock’s height being a little more than John’s, John picked Sherlock up with ease, raising him up into the air so that Sherlock’s feet no long brushed against the wooden flooring. By now the poison was taking full hold, making itching in Sherlock’s palms, back of neck, and feet terrible and causing a cold sweat to break out all over. It was only when he began to drift in and out of consciousness did Sherlock attempt to talk, but found himself only mumbling, his words spoken as if from a leaden tongue.

John shook him, “What’s that?”

Sherlock’s head lolled forward so that their eyes met and, after a moment to collect his wording, Sherlock stated, “I’ll swear to you.”

“You’ll tell me everything?” John inquired, tilting his head and giving Sherlock an eerie grin.

Sherlock nodded just as the rest of his vision started to fade. He could only briefly registering hearing the sound of the vial being uncorked and the burning hot liquid of the antidote going down his throat before he passed out completely.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock awoke to the sudden sound of someone’s weight settling into a chair. He rubbed his eyes and saw the person in question was Madam Hudson, sitting on his couch in the far corner of his room. Realization hit Sherlock as he jumped up and looked around to find himself nestled in his bed, perfectly intact with no residuals of the poison affecting him.

Sherlock calmed and looked over at Madam Hudson, smiling his best smile, “How may I help you, Ma’am?”

Madam Hudson smiled back at him with the smile a grandmother might give her favorite grandchild but Sherlock knew this face well and the grin on his own face faded away.

“I will get ready.” Was all he stated, standing up and stretching before relieving himself to the washroom down the hall.

There the servant girls scrubbed him down vigorously, a practice that Sherlock did not necessarily dislike, before perfuming his body with sweet oils and giving him a luxurious purple yukata that had a black sash. Sherlock was momentarily confused by the attire. Usually he was merely given a robe. This client must be more exceedingly wealthy than Sherlock first gave him credit for. He stepped out of the washroom, fully clothed in the form-fitting yukata and saw Madam Hudson waiting at the end of the hall for him. Sherlock tried to calm himself. In the eight months he had already served a mix of clients. Some were good, some were bad, and some he wished he did not have to ever see again. This client, from the look from Madam Hudson, was going to be one of the third. A rich noble, probably, or someone else higher up that had a favorite type of sex play that most courtesans, especially benders, did not like but something Sherlock had agreed to for the mere sake of gathering information for he found that the higher up the ranks the money went, the more dangerous the sexual play became.

She patted Sherlock on the back and led him down to the main parlor before rounding a corner and leading him down another stairwell just past an elaborately carved door. This was only the second time that Sherlock had done this so Madam Hudson knew he needed to be debriefed once more. The room at the bottom of stairs opened to show two doors, a Roman numeral on the respective left and right indicating Room I and Room II. Madam Hudson took out a key and unlocked Room I before letting Sherlock enter.

In the room there was a magnificently large bed with red and black sheets, with pillows to match, and four tall mahogany bedposts that were carved to appear like spiraling tree trunks. Sherlock had to admit, it was beautiful, even the metal supports wrought into the lower half of them for bondage play purposes. It was the rest of the room’s contents that, when revealed by the candles Madam Hudson lit around the room, were the true jolt. Along a wall was a long, low dresser in whose drawers contained all sorts of instruments such as riding crops, bondage ropes, steel Copper cuffs, gags and blinds, and various sized devices that Sherlock, even though never had it done to him, knew were for anal penetration. Madam Hudson opened the drawers and reviewed with Sherlock each devices use. He mimicked back to her the functions and proper usage until she was satisfied.

“You are to wait here for your client. He’ll want to ask you your name and then you to ask his. He has already forewarned me that the safe word will be ‘apple’ but that you can only use it under dire need….” Madam Hudson cleared her throat, “He likes to push people’s limits. He’ll be down shortly.”

Sherlock nodded and Madam Hudson went back up the stairs, leaving Sherlock to contemplate the room once more. It’s not that he had a problem per say with the play, in face some were quite nice, it was just he had heard from other benders that a few of the clients could be a little too rough, either bruising skin or even accidently hurting one of them. He paced the room before settling onto the bed, half-reclining and letting his sandaled feet dangle off the edge. Soon, the pitter-patter of light footsteps reached Sherlock’s ears and he put on his best smile as his client, a man nearly a head shorter than Sherlock with dark hair and nearly jet black shifty eyes, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Smiling, he eyed Sherlock up and down before giving Sherlock an eloquent half-bow, “Hello. My name is Moriarty. Jim Moriarty. What is yours, sweetheart?”

“My name is Sherlock.” Sherlock said, patting the bed, “Would you care to join me?”

Moriarty grinned widely but that smile, Sherlock noted, did not even begin to touch the man’s eyes before he asked, “Did Madam Hudson tell you our safe word?” Upon Sherlock’s nod Moriarty continued, “Good.”

Moriarty briskly walked across the room and promptly clamored on top of Sherlock, burrowing his hands up the bottom of Sherlock’s yukata. Caught off guard from the force, Sherlock fell back, he hands and legs splaying to catch his balance. This seemed to please Moriarty, who had a spark seemingly jump to his eyes as he bit Sherlock’s lip before continuing his biting down Sherlock’s jaw line and neck to leave bright red marks in his wake.  Moriarty looked down at Sherlock, observing his work before standing up and crossing the room to open the drawer to remove a cloth gag, several yards worth of rope, a riding crop, and one of the anal devices. Sherlock watched from where he lay on his back as Moriarty came back to the bed and roped Sherlock’s ankles and wrists to the posts of the bed, double checking his knots to make sure they were snug but not too tight. Then he took the cloth gag and put into Sherlock’s mouth, tying the cloth behind Sherlock’s head firmly. Sherlock was unsure how to feel about the slightly tight cloth gag but after a few tries could find himself able to breathe properly and swallow saliva if need be. Moriarty was studying him again.

Finally, as if mentally deciding a course of acting, Moriarty took and unbound the front sash of Sherlock’s yukata, causing the purple material to open partly. Moriarty then opened Sherlock’s yukata, carefully as though opening a fragile gift, to expose the bender’s long, pale body. Satisfied that Sherlock already was quite erect, Moriarty smirked and took the riding crop and ran it along Sherlock’s piqued nipples and smooth abdomen, causing goosebumps to arise. Sherlock bit the gag to keep himself from moaning for the feeling Moriarty was giving him was seductive to say the least.

Moriarty chuckled, “Good, Good yes. Respond to Daddy.”

Sherlock stopped briefly, a bit confused on the name call, but this landed him with a swift thwack right across his cock’s shaft, causing him to groan against the gag in pain.

“You don’t stop doing anything. You have to make Daddy proud, don’t you, sweetheart?” Moriarty continued, his voice dropping an octave as he gave Sherlock’s thighs light thwacks that left Sherlock’s legs stinging.

And so it continued for what Sherlock felt like ages. He had to keep squirming and writhing under the gentle touch and pet-calls but the moment he stopped a sharp, hard hit came rapidly down upon him in various locations, leaving said spots aching and no doubt bruised. Finally, Moriarty put the riding crop down and Sherlock thought it was over for he was breathing heaving, needing to climax terribly, and sore from the confines of the rope binds. It only took a moment for him to remember the last piece of the toys Moriarty had pulled out of the drawer and it made his heart skip a beat as Moriarty held it up, a rather large device it was, and practically giggling with excitement as Sherlock started to shake with a mix of apprehension and nervousness.

Thankfully, Moriarty had the mind enough to open the lubrication mixture, which had been conveniently placed by the bed, and coat the device with it. Still, it looked to be extremely large and unwieldy. Moriarty sucked on two fingers and slid them into Sherlock. Just for the fun Sherlock observed for Moriarty would well know with how benders are there is not much stretching to be done. Pleased with the new wave of rising color to Sherlock’s face, Moriarty withdrew his fingers and angled the device before inserting it into Sherlock, who wriggled but stilled when Moriarty dug his nails into his thigh, leaving behind deep marks, one of which Sherlock felt bled a small trickle of blood. It was as he feared, the device was simply too large for him to take and he could feel his eyes prick with pain as Moriarty inserted it farther.

Moriarty whispered half to himself as he watched Sherlock’s expressions shift between pleasure and pain, “That’s right, darling, express to me. I want to see what goes on in that pretty head of yours. Ordinary people are so boring but look at you, all wound up and pleasured by Daddy’s little games. You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?”

Moriarty punctuated his question with a hard insertion of the device, causing Sherlock to cry out and saliva to soak the gag. The way the gag had been angled there was no way for him to say the safe word so as Moriarty withdrew and reinserted the device time after time Sherlock could barely manage to gargle as his words began to jumble. Moriarty pushed the device as far in as possible, letting Sherlock writhe around it and moan with the need for release, the bonds at his ankles and wrists digging in to leave behind rope burns. Moriarty simply watched, his breath abated as Sherlock struggled to contain the orgasm that was threatening to take him any moment. Moriarty got atop Sherlock, straddling the other man’s hips while unfastening his trousers to reveal his raging erection and pressing their cocks together before spitting on his hand and fisting them both in unison. This mixture of everything drew Sherlock over the edge and with a loud moan came over his abdomen and chest and soon felt Moriarty shake and climax on top of him as well although Moriarty did it with little more than an orgasmic sigh and pleased full body shudder. Moriarty removed himself from atop of Sherlock and slid the device out of Sherlock’s now extremely tender backside.  He then loosened the bindings at Sherlock’s ankles and wrists to let Sherlock take the gag out himself.

When he tried to sit up, however, Sherlock found he could not due to his whole body quivering and his hind end hurting with pain. Moriarty eyed Sherlock one more time before holding the bender’s jaw in his hand and turning Sherlock’s face side to side.

“This was fun, my boy. Daddy should pay a visit to you again sometime.” Moriarty commented before dropping his hand and walking out of the door as if nothing had just happened.

Sherlock simply laid on the bed until one of the cleaning boys came down the steps and told him he had to go. Upon attempting to stand, however, Sherlock found himself falling to the floor, a cry on his lips as the cleaning boy caught him and then gasped.

“Madam Hudson! Get down here!” the boy called as he placed Sherlock the rest of the way on the floor before running back up the stairs to repeat his message.

Sherlock could not understand the fuss. He had slipped. No big worry. It was not until he saw from where he lay on the cold floor with the blood pooling around his waist did he understand. The blood was his. He glanced up briefly to see a furious Madam Hudson and then knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

One month later:

_____________________________________

Sherlock stood at his bedroom window, pleased to be up and about regularly now. The blood loss that had occurred the month previous had been extreme, with only the help of a local healer being able to seal the tears left before he bled to death. The bruises, Sherlock noted as he glanced down at the numerous yellowing places on his skin, had finally started to go away. It had been terrible, this past month, for he had not been allowed to work, which of course he did not mind considering how his condition had been, but it had left him too much free time, which he normally filled with thinking. His thoughts, oddly enough, always turning to John and, even stranger, how he missed John and the gentle touch and love that he had given. Shaking his head, Sherlock walked away from his window to lay in his bed and curl up with a pillow, letting sleep pervade his thoughts of John and carry him off into tranquility.

Sherlock was awoken by a soft knock at the door and he sat up to see John enter the room. Surprised but oddly glad Sherlock propped himself up against the pillows.

“So I’ve been told you can’t take customers right now, merely entertain.” John said factually, crossing the room after his normal shed of weaponry, “Why are you decommissioned? Did someone hurt you?” there was an edge to John’s voice that sent a chill down Sherlock’s spine.

John sat on the bed’s end as Sherlock drew his feet closer to himself and propped his head on his knees. Upon a silent moment between the two did Sherlock sigh and elaborate to John what had happened. John listened in rapt silence, not interrupting Sherlock but did have a spark of irritation in his eyes when Sherlock mentioned the bruising and bleeding. John clenched his jaw as if to urge down the instinct to hurt something. Yes, Sherlock was a bender, a prostitute bought for sex but that did not mean that a person should take advantage of that fact, especially not to bind the mouth where saying a safe word was nigh impossible.  He looked at Sherlock, who he realized had stopped talking and was instead staring at his now clenched fists.

“John.” Sherlock said tentatively.

“At least tell me the name.”

“Will you then not chase after the person?”

“I may not but you know I have my way of making you talk.”

“Point taken. The name was Moriarty. Jim Moriarty. I know nothing else besides that.” Sherlock paused before adding, “It was still consensual and it’s not your place to do anything for it.”

John huffed with indignation. He realized this but the fact of an obvious impediment of a safe word usage rubbed him the wrong way. Whether Sherlock himself realized that this event was not accidental John was uncertain. To put it out of his mind however John decided to pull Sherlock into his lap and bade him to sing lyrics from a song which he knew. Sherlock gave John an odd look but did as he was bade, recalling an old folk tune that his own mother had taught to him when he was young.

Sherlock’s usual deep voice slowly went up an octave as he sang the song, making John both inquisitive of Sherlock’s ability to do so and relaxed for the song itself was pleasant and calming. The last words died from Sherlock’s lips a few minutes later and John laid himself back on the bed, motioning for Sherlock to curl up next to his side. The affection John displayed, as if from an actual lover, offset Sherlock. This type of behavior was not the norm, especially from a client who was not even serviced sexually. John stroked his back slowly, humming back to himself the tune Sherlock had just sung. Sherlock was captivated that John had picked up on the tune so readily and John noticed the look he was being given.

“That tune. It’s quite a nice one. I didn’t just happenstance to pick up on it. We must be from the same region; the outer parts of the city, for my mother sung that when I was little and could not sleep.” John stated.

Sherlock looked at John dubiously, “I highly doubt that. I was born and raised here but my parents were from the outer city. They moved here when my brother was young.”

“Brother?” John’s brow furrowed.

Sherlock bit his tongue, wishing he had not spoken but knowing he now had no choice now that he had revealed partly some of his past, “My family….” Sherlock cleared his throat, “Are elites. My brother took after our father, working for part of the Counsel. In my…younger days, I took too much to a drug you may know as Whisper.”

John took in the initial information with the realization of the source of Sherlock’s better education but the latter part he gave Sherlock a slight smirk, “And let me guess, that’s why you’re here instead of with your family? Disowned?”

Whisper was a type of drug that many assassins were familiar with for its ecstasy and addiction properties. A powder made from a mixture of ground roots containing various poisons; it was also expensive, with the clientele mostly being that of high Council officials, nobles, and royalty. It was also highly deadly. Take a gram more than what you think your body can handle and you’ll die within the hour.

Sherlock shook his head, “My brother knows where I am and what I do but my parents believe me to be dead. I had debts to pay off after getting clean and my family was being targeted.”

John looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, processing all that Sherlock had revealed to him before turning and clutching Sherlock around the waist, almost protectively. When John first entered this room he was thinking merely of a quick fuck, albeit with a more expensive courtesan for preference, he did not expect these feelings that had festered over time. John bit back a sigh at the situation he was in, a situation that he thought he had sworn off upon becoming an assassin. All the while Sherlock was looking down at him, observing as John thought.

“How much do you have left to pay off?” John asked, not looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock pondered for a moment then answered carefully, “Around five thousand gold pieces.” John breathed in sharply but before he could comment Sherlock added, “Some clients give me gifts that sell for high amounts, so in the rough year I’ve been here I’ve already paid half of the entire debt.”

John rubbed his eyes. Five thousand was still quite the hefty sum and John’s previous thought of maybe helping Sherlock in order to release him of this life was shattered. Sherlock sat up and detached himself from John who by now was also sitting up and making to leave. John refastened his weaponry belt and stood in front of Sherlock, who stood waiting by the door.  John reached up to touch Sherlock’s face gently, tracing the sharp cheekbone and delicate jaw line before cupping the bottom of Sherlock’s jaw in his palm and stroking his chin with his thumb. Sherlock furrowed his brow, glancing at John’s hand before meeting his eyes.

“John—” Sherlock started to say before being promptly cut off by a hard kiss from John that caused Sherlock to whimper slightly.

“I will come back once more.” John whispered against Sherlock’s lips, “and when I do you are going to be mine… If you will let me.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as John kissed him again, softly this time, and said, “But…my debt...”

John wove a hand through Sherlock’s hair, planting more soft kisses on the taller man’s lips and face, “I will help you pay it. If you keep at this pace, you would pay it off alone in a little over a year. With my help you could have it paid off within that year.”

Sherlock could not believe his ears and he was wary of John’s promise but instead of voicing this concern he returned kisses to John and touched the hand John was resting on his jaw.

“Thank you.” Sherlock finally said in a hushed voice.

John touched the yellowing bruise on Sherlock’s wrist, “All I request is not taking customers like that anymore. Next time you may get seriously injured.”

Sherlock looked away from John and opened the door for him, “I cannot promise but I will try.”

John eyed Sherlock up and down before inclining his head, “Until next time.”

Sherlock smiled at him before closing the door. Upon hearing the almost non-existing   boot steps of John did Sherlock press his back against the door and slide down to the floor, a hand covering his mouth. Could it be, he surmised, that John had truly fallen in love with him enough to buy him out?


	5. Chapter 5

Roughly a week after John’s visit Sherlock was put back to servicing, his bruises having finally all healed. Fortunately Moriarty had not made an appearance and Sherlock was able to go about doing his day-to-day proceedings uninhibited. After another three months of seemingly endless servicing, Sherlock was nearing his next goal of saving up for his debt. John no doubt had been working as hard if not harder for a messenger bird had been sent to him that he would come to the Treasure Trove in another week. Humming cheerily to himself at the thought, he sat on his bed and counted a few silver pieces that he had put aside for spending purposes the next time he was allowed out. Satisfied with the amount doled out onto the sheets, Sherlock gathered them together in a coin purse before fastening it onto the belt he wore around his waist.

The clothes felt slightly constrained and uncomfortable after the months of wearing light robes and soft shifts in the warmth of the brothel’s walls. Sherlock straightened the charcoal grey trousers and white button up shirt before sliding on a jacket that matched his trousers.  Sherlock inspected himself in a mirror, hardly recognizing himself in this attire but grateful for it for Mikey had warned him the weather had turn nippy.

He hopped down the stairs and gave a nod to Mikey who merely dredged on his hookah and gave him a lazy wave in return. He stepped outside the doors and breathed in the scents of the city, running a hand through his hair and enjoying the sunlight on his face before taking off down a street. He had several shops he wanted to visit and took his time, reveling in the bustle of the crowds. It was starting to turn to dusk by the time Sherlock had finished the most of his exploration. He stopped in front of an Orient tea shop and stepped inside, the smell of incense and tea flooding his senses deliciously.

“Welcome.” An older Orient man said as he walked out of a backroom to greet Sherlock, “How may I help you today?”

Sherlock grinned, “Yes, actually, I’m looking for a blend called the Jade Dragon. Have you any in stock?”

“Ah! The Jade Dragon. Yes, we have some. I had a shipment arrive today, in fact. One moment please.” The man said before disappearing into the backroom.

Sherlock decided while he waited he would look around and picked up various pouches with labels depicting their name and ingredients. After a few minutes Sherlock wondered what the wait was. Curious, Sherlock poked his head into the backroom. As he rounded the corner, however, he ran right into the back of a man shorter than he. Sherlock could only register the jet black hair and wicked grin of a familiar face before a fist was brought around and knocked him out completely.

________________________________

Sherlock stirred groggily and stopped upon seeing his situation. He did not know where he was but he did know that his clothes were completely gone and he was shackled in metal binds, spread eagle and face up, on a bed. A type of metal neck-cuff was around his throat as well, holding him down and choking him when he tried to move or even turn his head.

“Oh, I am so disappointed in you, my dear.” Sherlock heard a voice say from the end of the bed.

Sherlock stiffened, knowing that voice could belong only to one person but could not move to confirm the face. A short whip sprung from the darkness and the tip lashed across Sherlock’s abdomen, causing a cut to appear and bleed and Sherlock to scream out in pain.

Moriarty stepped around the end of the bed and ran the hilt of the whip against Sherlock’s ribcage, “I was told I had to be gentle with you, despite how much I paid for you. No fun. Ordinary people are boring.” Moriarty punctuated his last word with another flick of the whip, this time against Sherlock’s nipples.

Sherlock cried out and tried to wriggle in his bonds but they were bound to tight. Moriarty tisked again and took the butt of the whip and shoved it against the bottom of Sherlock’s jaw.

“I’ll have you proper screaming my name this time, Sherlock.” Moriarty said with a voiced laced with arising lust.

Sherlock whimpered, the fresh cuts from the whip and chaffing of the various cuffs causing his eyes to prick with tears. Moriarty saw this and grinned maliciously.

“Oh I am going to have so much fun with you.” Moriarty commented before bringing down the whip again with a sharp crack.

______________________________

“What do you mean he’s not here?” John demanded as he cornered Mikey behind the front desk.

“You heard me. He’s been gone for a week. Left out here one morning and not returned since.” Mikey said as he tried to edge himself away from John.

“What’s all this ruckus?” John heard from behind him. He did not have to turn to know the voice came from the bobby, Lestrade, who that visited here often.

John turned to face Lestrade, “A bender by the name of Sherlock has been missing for a week.”

Lestrade glanced over at Madam Hudson, who by now hearing of the turmoil had come downstairs. Upon her nod of agreement Lestrade went over to her so that they could discuss a course of action for finding the missing courtesan. Madam Hudson soon had Lestrade send out a handful of Bobbies to disperse through the town for the hunt of Sherlock. John himself took to searching by more intricate means of threats or bribery. Soon, both the police and John came to the conclusion that wherever Sherlock had disappeared it was highly hidden.

Lestrade and John returned to the Treasure Trove to review over a course of action. John was thankful that Lestrade did not ask the relationship between the two nor bring up any questions other than that of when the last time John saw Sherlock. The two were mapping out the different streets when the door was suddenly swung in to reveal a barely clothed, disheveled, heavily bruised, bleeding, and shaking Sherlock.

Upon seeing John, who had stood up and was striding across the room towards him, Sherlock smiled faintly and collapsed just as John was able to catch him. With a glance at Lestrade the two carried Sherlock up the stairs and into his bedroom. There they tended to him, Lestrade having serving girls bring hot fresh water while John withdrew from his various supplies a needle and skin-thread. The cuts were thin but still bleeding plentifully, John noted as Lestrade cleaned the wounds. Sherlock’s left eye was badly bruised and swollen, as well as his bottom lip which also looked to have been bitten numerous times. Between Sherlock’s legs was the worst of all the injuries. Bruises lined up and down his thighs and legs, but what had taken the most abuse was Sherlock’s arse and hole. The skin of his arse had been torn by a cat o’ nine tails at least twice, maybe more. The hole itself looked to have been forcefully penetrated. Not by any cock, John thought with a bitter taste in his mouth, but with some sort of contraption that, from the sight of the large tears, had not even bothered to have been lubricated. Sherlock, finally somewhat calmed in their presence, drifted off into a sort of daze.

Lestrade stood, knowing that he had done the best he could do and left John to finish some stitching and commented offhandedly, “So you’re an assassin.”

John paused momentarily before continuing, “What if I am?”

“I know who you are, John. I was told by quite the reliable source.” Lestrade stated as he walked to stand a few feet away from John.

John chortled and kept on working until he was satisfied before turning and dipping his hands into a water basin to clean them. Standing while wiping his hands on a towel, he faced Lestrade and demanded, “Moriarty. Tell me about him.”

Lestrade pursed his lips, “How do you know of that name?”

“Sherlock told me it when he was recounting to me this one customer who had visited. I know not the extent of what he did but I do know a month after his little ‘visit’ Sherlock had still yellowed bruises. These bruises here are similar and are much worse. For him being gone a week as well I can only surmise that Moriarty was the one who took him. Tell me everything you know about him.”

The chuckle of surprise emitted from Lestrade’s mouth louder than he intended but all the same he shook his head, “You want me, a bobby, to tell you, an assassin, concerning highly sensitive information on someone?”

Now it was John’s turn to purse his lips and step forward dangerously.

“No!” Sherlock practically screamed as he clamored out of the bed to stand in front of John, “Please, don’t!”

Lestrade calmly moved Sherlock to the side and stared face-to-face with John, who unnervingly did not break eye contact or even flinch, not even when the copper had all but pressed their noses together. Lestrade held eyes with John, looking deep into whatever soul the assassin might have left. He must have been satisfied, for he backed away from John, who had not broken stance at any time. When Lestrade turned however, John seemed to move fluidly to produce a long thin dagger from a hidden niche of his clothing and press the blade of it to the side of Lestrade’s neck, causing the copper to freeze in his step.

“Think threatening me will work?” Lestrade calmly asked as he turned, letting the dagger clip the side of his neck and bleed slightly.

John merely smiled, twisted his hand so that the little bit of blood on it was slung off, and resheathed the blade before just watching Lestrade. Confused at the action John had just shown Lestrade also felt suddenly aware of his palms itching and mentally cursed himself. Of course the blade would have been tinged with poison and now, having let the metal bite his blood, he had let it in. John reached into another pocket and produced a vial not much bigger than an inkwell.

“This is the antidote to the poison. It’s black widow venom, a blend extracted from four of the best spiders of my collection. If you take this, you’ll be fine. If you decide not to, you have roughly an hour, give or take a few minutes, to live. The exchange in question is information for your life.”

Lestrade swallowed and looked over at Sherlock, who was ashen and wide-eyed but was able to say, “He’ll do it. I’ve seen him do it before.”

John swiveled a chair in front of Lestrade, “Sit and tell me everything you know about this Moriarty and I’ll spare your life.”

Lestrade eyed the chair and sat down, the vial was then plopped into his hand and he quickly pulled the stopper out and drank the thick sludge within it and felt the itchiness ebb away from his palms. John had pulled up another chair and now sat facing Lestrade before bidding Sherlock to come sit in his lap. Sherlock gave John an odd look but did as bid and sat almost child-like in the smaller man’s lap. Lestrade would have laughed at the sight had it not been for the cold stare that John was giving him at the moment. Sherlock shifted so as to ease pressure off of his aching backside but gratefully wrapped his arms around John’s neck as they listened intently as Lestrade began telling them more about Moriarty.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“He’s a deranged mastermind.” Lestrade began, “We’ve been trying to track him down, for we heard that he had broken into the main hall of the Council’s convergence room and took from it their initiation crown only to return it a week later, a ruby tore out of it and replaced with a chunk of apple with “I.O.U”  carved into it. Not too long after that incident I heard of his visit here from Madam Hudson and begun to investigate. It seems that he has also a knack for…going overboard with his obsession and killing benders but he evades capture every time. Not much information is known on him since he is not from around here nor from the outer regions of the city.”

“Where’s he from then?” John asked, shifting his leg so Sherlock could sit more comfortably.

“The western Isles from what we could understand of his accent from the last bender we were receiving info off of before Moriarty killed him.” Lestrade stated.

Sherlock swallowed, “But when he talked to me he didn’t have an Isles accent. He made himself sound as if from here.”

Lestrade nodded, “Thus how he spoke to the one prior to that a few towns over, as if from that region. This bender he harmed repeatedly drove his lust to the point that his façade slipped and his natural accent was shown. We had enough time to meet our collaborator and have this information given to us before said co-op was slain that night.” He looked at Sherlock, his expression grim, “We had been informed that the cause of his death was repeated raped. Moriarty had only touched this bender twice before, in similar fashion to you of at first in the brothel then by a kidnapping and torturing so I suggest you keep a close eye on yourself.  I have already taken the liberty of informing Madam Hudson so should he visit you will not have to go to him.”

Sherlock shuddered at the flashes of memory he received at the thought of Moriarty and of Moriarty’s _touch_ upon his skin. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist to steady the now shaky courtesan.

“Should I hear of him entering the Treasure Trove again you will have your criminal, albeit his head and genitalia severed from either end of his corpse.” John said tartly, his nose wrinkling with disgust.

Lestrade paused and looked betwixt John and Sherlock, piecing together slowly their actual relationship before licking his lips and proceeding, “Our last known location of Moriarty was near the eastern river bank, visiting the apothecary that has her shop set up close by there.”

John straightened in alarm, “He’s with Molly?”

Lestrade looked at John, brow raised with surprise, “You know her?”

John nodded, “Yes. I go to her for treatment if I need to and she is a brilliant apothecary, knows her poisons from her potions with her eyes closed.” He rubbed his temple with his free hand and then paused, “And what of Irene Adler, the Poisoner?”

A sharp snort escaped from Lestrade’s lips, “It was seen that he visited her first, threatened to kill her as well upon which she disappeared from the city for a few weeks. People thought her dead but she resurfaced a few days ago, perfectly alive and sound. Moriarty does not bother to try to kill her now, her web of spies are keeping him away from her plus she acclaimed that she had dosed herself with poison, her very skin containing toxins that could kill Moriarty within a week should he touch her.”

John grinned. Good ‘ole Irene, much too smart to be threatened by the likes of Moriarty and his kind. At least John knew he did not have to worry about her. His thoughts refocused on Molly.

“What do you think he is doing visiting Molly?” John remarked allowed to himself and to Lestrade.

“No clue. Tomorrow I’m going to send some of my men to her cabin to interrogate the matter.” Lestrade, now completely rid of the poisons now that the antidote had fully purged his system of it, stood and walked around John and went to the door, his hand resting on the handle before he quietly added, “I will keep you informed of any findings, John.”

John did not turn around, merely breathed in deeply and replied, “I would expect so. Thank you.”

Lestrade nodded his goodbye to Sherlock, who was peering over John’s shoulder, before turning the knob and walking out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

John ran a hand gently up and down Sherlock’s spine before picking him up and gently placing him onto the bed. Sherlock let himself be carried and nestled into the covers as John sat on the edge and looked down wistfully at Sherlock’s right hand before picking it up and kissing the back of it as if Sherlock were a royal.

“I will not let him kill you.” John murmured against Sherlock’s knuckles, not looking up but continuing to trail kisses up Sherlock’s arm passionately before pausing, his lips resting near Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock placed a hand on John’s cheek and turned the man so that they faced one another. To his surprise, Sherlock saw John’s eyes slightly damp with constrained tears.

Concerned, Sherlock placed his hand on the other side of John’s face and leaned forward to kiss his forehead and drew John back down with him to lay his head against his chest. John carefully let himself be brought down to rest and from where he lay observed the band of bruising Sherlock had on his neck. John was used to cruelty, to torture, and to death but this, this profane act that Moriarty had done upon Sherlock was an abomination. John clenched his teeth, pushing back the tears threatening to overspill. Sherlock petted the top of John’s head, running his hand through the short blond hair, and noticed that a few strands were already touched with silver. John eventually reached up to take Sherlock’s hand in his and sit up. John stroked the veins of Sherlock’s hand lovingly, tracing lazy circles on the pale skin there before refocusing his eyes on Sherlock, who had been observing quietly.

“When I became an assassin…”John began, “I swore to myself to not have any pillars for a pillar, once destroyed, would make me weak and vulnerable….” He swallowed before continuing, “This Moriarty fellow now has his sights on you…and if he’s a rival assassin he has found the perfect weapon-you.”

Sherlock bit his lip, not knowing what to say.

After a moment’s silence, John quietly started, “Sherlock… I want you to know that I lo—”

The door was flung inward, a troubled Lestrade following shortly behind, “John! Get him out of here, now! Moriarty has just shown up here and is demanding Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as John gracefully picked him up and crossed the room to open the latch of the window. Lestrade nodded farewell before running back out the door, withdrawing his baton and closing the door behind him.

The wind whistled on the small balcony outside of Sherlock’s bedroom as John looked around for an easy pathway. Seeing none, he put Sherlock over his shoulder without difficulty as if the taller man was light as a feather.

“Hold on tight, I’m going to have to climb down.” John said, feeling Sherlock’s fingers dig into his coat.

He swung a leg over the balcony’s edge and then swooped under it to the small ladder rungs attached to the side of the Treasure Trove’s wall. He stepped on each rung, careful to not make a faulty step on the icy slickness covering them, before he felt his feet touch the ground. Once there, he took Sherlock off his shoulder and placed his on the ground, steadying him before emerging from the side of the building and hailing a carriage. John took out a slip of parchment and handed it to the driver.

“Take us to this destination. I will pay you upon arrival, double if you do so quickly. Make no stops for others.” John stated, sliding his coat back briefly to show a blade that was tucked just inside the coat’s inner pocket.

The driver glanced briefly at the half-concealed blade before nodding, opening the door for John and Sherlock and closing it behind them before climbing atop the carriage and cracking the whip. The carriage started with a jolt but soon was steady as the driver gained speed.

Just then Moriarty burst out of the doors of the Treasure Trove, a bruise on the side of his cheek and his lip bleeding. With fury in his eyes, he scanned the path and upon seeing the carriage rumble past he grinned to himself before taking off at a brisk walk, albeit with a slight limp from being hit in the shin with the bobby’s baton, in the other direction. He hailed a passing by carriage and told the driver to take him to Molly, the apothecary. He would let them escape, for now, in the fallacy that they were safe. 


	7. Chapter 7

It was midmorning the next day by the time the carriage stopped. John shook Sherlock, who had fallen asleep on the journey, and helped him step out of the door. John then took two gold pieces out of his pocket and tossed them up to the driver, who snatched them up and quickly departed without so much as a backwards glance.

Sherlock stretched to work the knots out of his back, “Why did you choose to stop here?” he inquired as he pointed up at the creaking wooden sign that read Cozy Cat Inn in worn out red script.

“We’re not stopping here. I only chose here as a location in case the driver decided to blabber. Follow me.” John stated, walking past the Inn and towards a dark thatch of woods across the road.

On they walked, slipping through brambles and climbing over grass ridges, occasionally John having to carry Sherlock due to Sherlock being injured as it were. Sherlock was soon completely lost on where they were, the forest’s directions blending around him as the trees felt like they loomed closer.

“May I ask where are we going?” Sherlock wondered aloud, glancing nervously over his shoulder as an owl hooted somewhere off in the distance.

“Safe house.” John’s short reply came.

“Ah.” Sherlock commented, following closer to John, a chill running up his spine. He was thankful to have found another shirt and trouser set at the brothel for it was much needed against the cold that had started to creep in.

Finally John stopped at the base of a large tree, giving a cursory glance around them before brushing a pile of leaves off to the side to reveal a door against the forest floor. From an alcove of the tree’s trunk John produced a key that then he used to unlock the bolt on the door before swinging it open. John motioned with his hand and Sherlock walked down the steps and into a spacious underground living room.

Taken aback by the roominess of the underground cavern, Sherlock just gaped at it. There was enough space for a makeshift couch, a weapons rack along the wall with a medium-sized writing desk alongside the opposing wall. Hanging on the wall above the writing desk was a glass-paned spread of cabinets behind which was vials of all shapes and sizes with labels. One Sherlock identified as the antidote to the poison Lestrade had consumed so he guessed that the rest of the contents were other types of poisons and antidotes. In a far left corner was nestled a washbasin and a small dresser upon which sat a music box, an odd object amidst the rest of the room. In the center of the room was a tidy wooden table with a set of chairs, one of which John collapsed down into and watched Sherlock from. In the far right hand corner were jars containing what appeared to be dead frogs, lizards, and spiders albeit all were preserved quite well, the corpses being suspended in some type of viscous liquid.

Sherlock sat down carefully in the chair across the table and the two let a few moments pass in utter silence. John then breathed in deeply and looked around the safehouse, a mixture of nostalgia and pride on his face.

“My master taught me the location of this.” John commented, standing up and walking over to the writing desk to pull out a liquor bottle and two glasses, “Here, drink this.” He told Sherlock, placing a short glass down in front of Sherlock and pouring about half a cup worth into it.

Sherlock slid the glass over to himself, running his fingers along the brim before taking hold of the glass and tipping back the entirety of its contents before venturing to ask, “What happened to your master?”

John smiled sadly, “As what happens to all Masters who take Apprentices. I killed him.” He looked around the safe house, smiling to himself as though as some distant memory, “Anyways, come. You must be tired and sore from the journey.”

Sherlock realized that he was indeed worn out. His back and bum aching quite terribly. He was exceedingly thankful that John had been able to stitch him up well; else wise he did not think he could have possibly managed the trip. He stood and started towards the couch but John cleared his throat and pushed in a sidewall to reveal a hidden passageway. John led Sherlock through, letting the door close behind them and they rounded a corner further down the makeshift tunnel to see a small, dimly lit room that had a basic bed, wash basin, and bed side table.

“You can sleep here. I’ll be in the main room to keep an ear out. I’m unsure how far this Moriarty’s reach can go but rather be safe than sorry.” John stated, turning to leave, the lie having slipped from his lips imperceptibly. 

“John.” Sherlock said softly, “What is it you were going to tell me when we were back at the Trove?”

John froze and was thankful to have his back to Sherlock, for his face was stricken with apprehension and doubt. He recollected himself and turned to face Sherlock, “T’was nothing. Sleep well, Sherlock.”

He did not allow Sherlock time to reply, instead taking off back through the tunnel to emerge into the main room, shutting the passage door behind him. He stood there with eyes downturned to the smooth brick flooring as he attempted to figure out what he had just said was appropriate. He finally straightened his coat and strode over to the writing desk, pulling out a slip of parchment and an inkwell before scrawling upon it a quick note that he then slid under the liquor glass that remained on the center table before walking back up the steps and out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a tad shorter than the others but I felt that where that last line was would be a good "chapter cut" that will lead into Chapter 8, which will be decidedly longer. ☺


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so the muse was kind and granted me the ability to get this written before Monday?? Either way, here ya go!

Sherlock awoke suddenly and he did not know why. Tiredly, he shrugged off the blankets from around him and stood, stumbling his way down the corridor and into the main room. He found it to be empty. Noticing the note on the table, Sherlock walked over and picked it up. In John’s handwriting, for it matched the labels on the vials, the note said:

  
_I had to depart to gather supplies since it has been a while since there were any ‘guests’ here. Do not answer the door unless you hear a certain knock of: tap-tap-foot slide to right-foot slide to left-tap. By the time you get this note it should be roughly mid-morning. Expect my return in the early afternoon._   
_-JW._

  
Sherlock sighed and placed the note back down on the table. With no windows, he had no earthly idea what time of day it could possibly outside. Plus with nothing to eat at the moment and hunger gnawing at him, he was slightly perturbed. Thankful that the liquor had been left out on the desk, he poured himself a glass to ease away the hunger. After a few more glasses he lost sense of time whatsoever or care in his surroundings, moseying around before looking through the other drawers in John’s desk. He found amid the stacks of papers and numerous fake seals a drawing. Half-dazed with alcohol, Sherlock did not recognize the person at first but then after closer inspection realized that the drawing was of a young boy that looked astoundingly like John and an older man who looked to be John’s father for he was remarkably similar in appearance. Taken aback that John would have something like this, Sherlock just observed it until he heard a light tap.

  
Distracted, Sherlock kept listening and heard another tap followed by the sound of a foot sliding from the right hand side of the door to the left then from the left to the right before one more tap. Remembering that was the sequence John had mentioned, Sherlock stumbled over the door, unlatching the inside locks before pushing the door open to reveal a smiling John.

  
“Hello there.” John stated, hauling himself down the steps, a two medium-sized satchels on his right shoulder and a loaf of what smelled like freshly baked bread in his other hand.

  
Sherlock took the loaf and satchel from John and went to the table while John refastened the locks. Satisfied, John stood next to Sherlock at the table and suddenly noticed the drawing that had been left atop the desk. Without a word, he picked it up and looked at it forlornly before putting it back in the drawer that Sherlock had found it in.

  
“Who were they?” Sherlock asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  
John smiled softly, pulling out a chair for Sherlock to sit in before sitting in the opposite chair, “The boy in the drawing is me. The man was my master.”

  
“But he looks just like you. Does that mean…?” Sherlock inquired cautiously.

  
“Yes. My master was my father. When the time came for me to become a professional assassin my father told me I had to do as any other apprentice should: kill the master or have the master kill the apprentice. For two assassins of the same killing style to exist is deadly for both.” John said matter-of-factly.

  
“Oh.” Sherlock said, tipping back another glassful of liquor and scowling to himself for asking.

  
“Hey, now.” John chuckled, taking the glass away from Sherlock and noticing that the bottle was down to a mere fourth, “I think that’s enough for you.”

  
Sherlock pouted with indignation and decided to eat some of the bread and ignore John. That is until John stood and wrapped his arms around Sherlock from behind, kissing Sherlock’s soft dark curls lovingly before trailing gentle kisses down the back of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock turned and the two shared sweet kisses that slowly became more heated. They both knew Sherlock could not have intercourse but it did not stop John from sliding his now generously saliva-slicked hand down Sherlock’s trousers to grasp the already hardening cock and tease the tip slowly with his thumb. The mix of warmth from the liquor and pleasure from John’s heated touch pleased Sherlock as he deepened their kisses, running his hands through John’s short cropped hair. John nipped at Sherlock’s lip, causing Sherlock to smile and nip back. John chuckled and withdrew his hand to sweep Sherlock up in his arms and sit in Sherlock’s chair before placing the aroused man across his lap and resuming fisting Sherlock’s erection.

  
Sherlock shivered and moaned under John’s touch, arching in an effort to get more friction against his skin. An effort that did not go unnoticed by John, who increased his speed and pressure until Sherlock was practically writhing against him, clutching John’s coat in his hands and moaning aloud. Unable to resist any longer, Sherlock gasped and came across the top of John’s hand and onto his abdomen. John smiled down at Sherlock, kissing his sweaty forehead before having Sherlock suck his own seed from John’s fingers. Spent and with the alcohol finally causing him to be drowsy it did not take much for John to convince Sherlock to retire back to bed while he stood watch. Having been partially aroused by Sherlock, John finished himself quickly, wishing all the while that Sherlock was not injured, before resuming his guard.

  
While he had been out and about earlier he had visited the small town nearby, gathering the supplies as well as any information concerning the supposed upcoming Council initiation that was to occur in a few weeks. So far, no one had heard much besides that the supposed elector was someone whom the Council already feared and were only placing the person within in order to keep an eye on. John snorted, probably to be killed shortly by an assassin like himself. Sighing softly, John rolled over in his thoughts about the past and, quite dangerously, the future.

  
 **\-------      --------         --------         --------        ---------        ---------      --------     -------**

   
John and Sherlock spent a fortnight in the bunker, letting time for Sherlock to heal and allowing John to gather any more info concerning the upcoming Initiation. John had Sherlock bend over the side of the bed and checked the skin of Sherlock’s arse to see that Sherlock had been completely healed there. Luck was on their side seeing that due to Sherlock’s profession he was usually pretty stretched as it were, thus causing the forced penetration to not cause lasting damage. It was early the day when John decided it was time to move.

  
“We’ve spent long enough time here, Sherlock.” John said to him as he gathered supplies into a satchel “Best to get moving before we’re found.”

  
Sherlock nodded and asked, “Why hasn’t Madam Hudson come searching for me?”

  
John smiled half-heartedly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, “Over the past few months I have been depositing small amounts to her to steadily buy you off. I happened to get a hit a month back concerning a noble. Another, quite petty, noble wanted two things: a gem that the other noble had stolen to be returned and said thief to be slain. It was amazingly simple and the reward was quite large. Thus why I was able to send the messenger bird so quickly for I’d come into possession of three thousand gold pieces. The noble was a damn fool to pay out that much, but a damn fool who paid me well. Prior to that I already had two thousand gold pieces saved so I also found that group you’d been associated with.”

  
“What? I never told you the name, how on earth did you find them out?” Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow.

  
John merely smiled, “As I’ve told you, I have my ways of gathering information. Either way, I found them prior to coming to the Trove and told them that should they see you out and about Londyn you have no binds to them before giving them the five thousand gold pieces. They agreed to my….terms. So, now, you are officially free and under my protection.”

  
Sherlock chuckled, hearing John’s emphasis on the word terms and guessing what he probably meant, “So now I’m back to being Sherlock the ex-noble instead of Sherlock the bender?”

  
“Exactly.” John reached over to stroke the side of Sherlock’s face endearingly.

  
Sherlock leaned his cheek into John’s hand, a joyous grin splayed on his lips.

  
The smile on John’s face withered as he continued to pet Sherlock, “I know this is going to sound dangerous but we have to go see Molly the apothecary. She replied to a message I sent last week saying that Moriarty had left her and her cabin for good. Seems the two were in a relationship and she found out about his cavorting around and she kicked him out.”  
Sherlock stiffened, “You said ‘we’. That means I can come to?”

  
“Of course you are. I’m not going to leave you here. Much too dangerous; besides I think Moriarty may be onto us should we stay here any longer.” John licked his lip apprehensively, “At least you’re pretty healed up. Only the bruising left and that’ll go away in another couple of weeks. The salve I’ve been applying to you will speed it up even more. Speaking of which, let me give you another coat of it before we head out.”

  
Sherlock nodded and removed his shirt and trousers before lying down on the couch facedown. John opened a small flask and poured some of the almost honey-like salve into his open palm before rubbing his hands together to warm it. Gently, he flexed his fingers to knead the salve into Sherlock’s skin, enjoying the small squirms and pleased moans that Sherlock as doing under his touch. It took all of John’s assassin skills of withholding himself to keep from turning Sherlock over and taking him completely. He knew that, for now, that time would not allow much further time to be wasted. Finished with his doctoring, John walked over to the wash basin and quickly rinsed his hands off before drying them on the hem of his shirt. Sherlock straightened and stretched before sliding his clothes back on and grabbing his own satchel of supplies that lay next to John’s own.

  
The two shared a glance and smiled at one another, both knowing what the other wanted but refraining from saying anything. John double-checked the supplies once more before extinguishing all the lights in the safe house and walking with Sherlock up the steps. Once there, he fastened closed the door and bolted the locks, tucking the key in its alcove. Together, they started the journey back towards the Cozy Cat Inn where they could then hail a carriage to take them back to Londyn and then further to the outer city where Molly resided.

  
 **\--------      -----------        -----------       ----------      -----------         ---------        ---------**

The trip felt to be much shorter than John or Sherlock remembered it to be. _Possibly because Sherlock’s no longer injured nor are we on the immediate run_ , John pondered to himself as they waited at Molly’s front door. John tapped his foot impatiently. They had knocked twice yet Molly had still not answered the door. John was reaching up to bang his fist against the door once more when a clash could be heard and then a few curses followed by the door opening to reveal Molly, albeit a she was little disheveled and cranky looking.

  
She looked at John then at Sherlock before harrumphing and turning away, leaving the door open for the two to enter her cabin. The trio sat down at a table that was strewn with beakers and bottles alike and sipped tea while Molly told John about Moriarty.

  
“He originally told me his name was Richard. He knew quite a lot about the art of assassination, like you, John.” Molly inclined her head and then looked at the remaining tea in her mug, “All was well, I didn’t even know how vile he was until I caught him red-handedly feeling up some bender earlier this month. Probably never would have either because I rarely go into Londyn but I had to make an emergency trip for Orient herbs before they went out for the season. After he left the bender I talked to him. Seems that ‘Jim Moriarty’ had a knack for going into random brothels and selecting a bender to….play with.” At this Molly bit her lower lip and she looked up at Sherlock, “He did the same to you, didn’t he?”  
Sherlock swallowed and nodded, “He did where I used to work and then the next time he kidnapped me and forced me….and hurt me.”

  
Molly nodded understandingly, “John told me a little about that. See, I tried to be a good partner to him but when he suggested doing things that I did not agree with is when he started to get distant from me. Then I find this out and that was the last straw.” She turned to John, “I also hear he’s been suspected of murdering a different bender?”

  
John grimaced, “Yes. The Londyn copper Greg Lestrade had a bender for intel gathering and I believe Moriarty knew this. He first harmed the bender by pushing his limit too far, then kidnapped him and forced him into sex before letting him return to his brothel, and then the last time he raped the bender to death. It’s one reason I don’t want him to find Sherlock because that’s his pattern. Twice he plays and last he slays.”

  
Molly stood as she downed the last of her tea, “The only other thing I know is he isn’t from Londyn. The accent he has is too exaggerated. I deal with enough west Isles merchants to know one when I hear it, even when covered. He also mentioned something about the upcoming Initiation. Something about ‘owing’ someone. I wish you well but that’s really all I can tell you.”

  
Sherlock and John finished their tea and put their mugs into Molly’s awaiting hand.

  
“Thank you, Molly. Stay safe. I hope to catch this twist and find out exactly what he’s up to and what hell he could possibly have in common with the Council.” John stated, giving Molly a light peck on the cheek before stepping out of the cabin.

  
“Sherlock?” Molly called out just as Sherlock had started to follow John.

  
Sherlock paused and turned to face Molly, “Yes?”

  
“I’m sorry for what he did. If you ever have need of me, just tell me.” Molly said, her eyes moistened but not wavering in resolution.

  
Sherlock glanced behind him so ensure John was not there before quietly saying, “Thank you. Should this rift between Moriarty and John continue I may take you up on that offer.”

  
Molly’s eyes grew wide and her lips parted as if to speak but Sherlock merely put a finger over his lips before turning and walking outside to accompany John.


	9. Chapter 9

Later that day John and Sherlock met Lestrade at the Treasure Trove. While John sat down with Lestrade to discuss the information gathered since their absence, Sherlock went to speak with Madam Hudson. She greeted Sherlock warmly with a hug and a kiss, taking him with her to her private office to collect the few belongings that were his. Grateful that he was able to keep a few objects, Sherlock gathered up the few items and returned to the table to see John in deep conversation with Lestrade.

“I’m telling you this because you’re the best we can get right now; supposedly Moriarty is going to be attending the Reichenbach Ball.” Lestrade told John, leaning close so as to not be overly loud, “The Council members are going to be there since it’s quite the fancy ball for nobles and higher ups. We believe that Moriarty intends to murder the new Initiate, who will also be attending but under false pretences. A disguise that Moriarty has already seemed to figure out from his putting that carved chunk of apple in place of the ruby stone of the Imitation Crown.”

Sherlock listened with intrigue. He was glad to be able to accompany Sherlock but at the same time felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach. John noticed his sudden quiet and reached under the table to grasp Sherlock’s hand in his own as they continued to listen to Lestrade.

“If I get you two in, since I know you won’t go without Sherlock present, John, I want you to find and arrest Moriarty and bring him to me at the Scot Yard Station. Only under extreme circumstances can you kill him. Otherwise, we need him alive in order to question him to locate his web of spies and assassins. I can get you both nobility wardrobe, if need be.” Lestrade said, glancing at Sherlock then at John.

John dismissed this with the wave of his free hand, “I have plenty of noble clothing already and can get a tailor to create one for Sherlock. The less taint of a Copper hand the better.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes but continued on, “Anyways. Thank you for agreeing to this. I must be off. I will keep an eye and ear out for any other information if it comes up.”

“If you do get any more information please send it to Molly’s shop instead of to the Treasure Trove. Today is the last time Sherlock or I walk through these doors.” John smiled.

Lestrade did not venture to ask why but merely raised an eyebrow and nodded his head in agreement before standing up and leaving the Trove.

John turned to Sherlock and took the former courtesan’s hands in his own. Sherlock smiled gently and gave John’s hands a squeeze.

“Why are you having them redirect information there?” Sherlock asked.

John looked down at their entwined hands and stroked the side of Sherlock’s hand with a calloused thumb, “Because Molly offered to me one time that should I…. should I ever want to leave the assassination trade my knowledge of herbs would be useful to help assist her.” He looked up briefly to meet Sherlock’s eyes before looking back down, “I want to have a happy life with you, Sherlock, if you’ll have me to.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide, “Really?”

John nodded, “Really.”

Grinning widely Sherlock bounded around the table to hug John around the neck. John chuckled and gave a small glance to Madam Hudson, who had returned to the room to see the exchange. She just smiled knowingly and gave a slight hand wave behind her, motioning to a door marked “Private Suite”. John chuckled and swept Sherlock up in his arms, much to Sherlock’s surprise, before carrying him over into the private suite room. Inside the room was a medium sized bed covered in what looked like royal blue silk with a privacy screen made of nearly sheer white material. Madam Hudson must have had some sort of intuition for large candles lining the sidewalls were lit and filling the room with the pleasant scents of spices and lavender.

Sherlock, laughing at the now gentle kisses John was peppering up and down his neck, wriggled until he was put down long enough to lock the door. As soon as the bolt slid in place, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and half carried him over to the bed where they flopped down together in a mass of wandering arms and meandering mouths. Their clothes were shed in a matter of no time, causing them to have their nude bodies pressed against one another as they continued to kiss and bite passionately.

John cupped Sherlock’s arse in his hands as he lowered himself down to run his tongue along Sherlock’s inner thigh. Sherlock squirmed and even whimpered slightly as John’s tongue came in close proximity of his erect cock but not touching it. Sherlock heard John laugh devilishly and leaned up to watch as John took Sherlock’s length in his mouth. Shivering, Sherlock lay back and reveled in the sensation as John’s tongue worked deftly on his shaft and tip. Just as Sherlock felt close to climax John slid his mouth off, causing Sherlock to groan and John to smirk.

John stuck two fingers of his right hand into Sherlock’s mouth, “Slick them.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes playfully but did as he was bid, heavily salivating on John’s fingers until John was satisfied enough to withdraw and work one then two slickened fingers into Sherlock’s arsehole. John then grasped into Sherlock’s leg with his other hand, coaxing the other man into moaning obscenities and squirming on John’s fingers.

“Please…” Sherlock managed to gasp out as John started to plant soft kisses intermitted with firm love bites on Sherlock inner thighs as he continued to finger Sherlock, “John…”

John stopped his kisses to look up at Sherlock, whose face had become flushed with want, “What do you truly want, Sherlock?”

Sherlock bit his lip and then said, “I want you to fuck me….please.”

Smiling, John withdrew his fingers from Sherlock and had laid Sherlock flat on his back before straddling him at the hips and slowly entering him. Sherlock shivered with the anticipation he had been withholding and arched his back to allow John more access. John increased his thrusts, placing his feet against the board at the end of bed for leverage, and splayed his hands out on either side of Sherlock’s face for stability. Sherlock wound his hands up to clasp them onto John’s upper arms and spread his legs farther, helping to deepen the thrusts.   It was only moments after that Sherlock could no longer withhold his climax and with a loud moan came across his abdomen and chest. John thrust once more before withdrawing and almost immediately coming across Sherlock’s thigh before lying down next to Sherlock, whose breathing was as heavy as his own.

Sherlock turned to lie on his side to face John and caress the moderate splay of wrinkles lining his face. John smiled, causing the wrinkles to deepen much to Sherlock’s delight. John opened his arms and Sherlock curled up into them, pressing his forehead against John’s sweaty chest.  John ran his hand through Sherlock’s dampened curls, enjoying the pleasant near-purr that Sherlock was doing that had begun to resound throughout his chest.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

“Mmm?” Sherlock replied, nuzzling into John’s chest.

“I love you.”

Sherlock looked up in surprise, “Truly?”

John nodded and sweetly kissed Sherlock’s forehead, “I truly do.”

Eyes swelled with tears, Sherlock reached up to kiss John on the lips, “I love you too, John.”

With another comforting kiss, John let Sherlock sink back to being curled up next to his chest. Sherlock felt a wave of mixed emotions pass over him and all at once Sherlock knew that he had to do the last thing he ever wanted to do. 


	10. Chapter 10

John looked at himself in the floor length mirror that was settled into the corner of his bedroom and straightened his collar. The small five room house on the outskirts of Londyn was quaint. Sherlock had greatly enjoyed seeing John’s personal library full of books and his immaculate but simple kitchen. The other three rooms had been a bedroom, an indoor lavatory, and a weaponry room. An unmistakable shuffle of feet prompted John to turn around to face Sherlock, who had entered into their room.

Sherlock walked over to John and they exchanged a sweet kiss before John stood back and admired Sherlock’s outfit. The trousers were of a camel tan and the shirt a lapis lazuli blue that offset Sherlock’s eyes magnificently. The coat was of a tan matching that of the trousers and gave Sherlock a regal look that John attributed to Sherlock’s previous high status. It had been specifically tailored to fit his slim form, which pleased John greatly.

John readjusted his own collar again before pinning three badges onto his uniform. It was a simple captain of the guard uniform of dark forest green with a tan belting and trim to match that of Sherlock’s attire. The pins he placed were fraudulent but should they be questioned on definition John had rehearsed that the pins one was in honor of duty and another fealty to the Council. The third, a heart shaped pin, bestowing medical knowledge, a trait that few captain of the guards bothered to learn but one that John found to be quite helpful.

“All right. Remember what we rehearsed?” John questioned Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded and stated, “I am to be Sir Joseph Bell, your translator and record keeper from Londyn. You are to be James Boswell, Captain of the guard for the Littlejohn family in Korsica.”

John grinned, “Yep.  Thankfully we both know French. If we’re lucky we won’t get bothered by too many people since we’re not important.”

He walked out of the room and to the small outdoor stable, Sherlock at his side. They hopped into the already saddled horses and took off at canter towards the Saint Bart’s Estate.

\----------           ---------          -----------         ----------        -----------         -----------        --------

They arrived in good time, just as the sun was setting. A stable hand took the reins from Sherlock and John whilst the guards at the Estate’s drawbridge welcomed approaching guests and read documentations presented to them. As they neared, John withdrew from his breast pocket two documents and handed them to Sherlock. When they were in front of the guards, John scanned the estate’s tall brick walling with mock admiration while Sherlock handed over their papers to be inspected. The guards read over the notations carefully and were satisfied, stepping aside to allow them passage. John broke from his mock reverie to smile at the guards and tip his head in thanks.

Once inside they noticed the Reichenbach Ball to already be in full swing, orchestral music being merrily played away tunes as the attendees danced in sync. John looked around and spotted Moriarty almost right away, recognizing him from his thatch of black hair. Sherlock slunk back slightly so as to hide himself from any chance of being seen by Moriarty.

“C’mon.” John beckoned after Sherlock as he saw Moriarty separate himself from the rest of the guests and head towards the spiraling stairwell on the room’s far right-hand side.

They started to walk that way when a figure bumped into Sherlock, causing him to be separated from John in the mass of dancing bodies. Prior in the plan they agreed had that happened Sherlock was to engage in conversation while John continued on so Sherlock turned to face the person whom he had run into and to see none other than his brother Mycroft.

“Hello, Sherlock.” Mycroft remarked to Sherlock as he leaned delicately on his redwood walking cane.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock acknowledged, “Everything in place?”

Mycroft chuckled, “Oh yes, brother mine, they are. She will have to be thanked grandiosely for her help you know.”

“Of course,” Sherlock acquiesced, “That is, if everything goes to plan.”

Mycroft gestured his head towards the stairs, “Time for you to go play your finishing act.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw at Mycroft’s choice of words but instead of responding quickly turned on his heel and made his way up the staircase. Mycroft sighed as he watched his brother’s receding form and decided to meander over to the table splayed with wines and cakes, deciding to indulge himself while he awaited the inevitable.

Sherlock looked all around the second and third stories but could not see John or Moriarty anywhere so he climbed up to the fourth level. Upon seeing neither there Sherlock could only assume that the two were on the rooftop. Against a hallway’s wall was a sentry ladder that Sherlock used to emerge onto the roof to see John and Moriarty locked in combat. John had a cut on his forehead, most likely from crashing into a wall or the rooftop. Moriarty looked worse, his suit torn in places and blood dripping from a torn lip. Sherlock backed away from the brawl but Moriarty noticed him and began to giggle vivaciously.

John’s head whipped around and his eyes met Sherlock’s. That was all Moriarty needed to kick John’s feet out from under him, jump over his now crouched form, and latch onto Sherlock’s arm to twist it behind his back. Sherlock cried out and fell to his knees as Moriarty twisted his arm further. John went to move but Moriarty tisked.

“Now, now. Don’t want to do that, John.” Moriarty chided, his thick Isles accent positively dripping with chastisement as twisted Sherlock’s arm until it made a loud pop of being dislocated but not broken.

Tears pricked Sherlock’s eyes as John’s own flashed with unrestrained loathing and hatred. Every time John attempted to move, Moriarty edged closer to the side of the rooftop. Situations and outcomes raced through John’s mind as he watched Moriarty’s footing placement. He knew if he made a false move Moriarty would be on the precipice and more than likely toss Sherlock over. In a final decision, John dashed across the expanse between himself and Moriarty. Before John could get close enough to grab a proper hold on Sherlock, Moriarty swung himself widely to the side and pushed Sherlock so that Sherlock tripped over the low metal balcony and stumbled off of the roof.

“No!” John shouted, ramming into Moriarty and knocking him over.

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed as he grabbed a hold with his good hand and arm, fingers biting into the metal railing for dear life.

John glanced over at the location of where Sherlock’s voice was coming from then at Moriarty, who had picked himself up and started steadily walking towards the sentry ladder, only looking up to toss a snide look at John before climbing down through the opening. Deciding Sherlock as more important, John rushed over to grasp Sherlock’s hand just as Sherlock lost his grip on the railing. Due to sweat and nervousness shaking throughout his whole body, Sherlock could not maintain his grip and his hand slid out of John’s and latched onto a piece of stone overhang.

“Sherlock!” John cried out in alarm, trying to grasp for Sherlock’s outreached hand as his other was beginning to lose its hold on the ledge.

“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock said, tears running down his cheeks as he tried to search for another grip but his grip failed, causing him to hurdle downwards from the tower and land with a large splash into the moat. 

Spines of creatures John recognized as crocodiles bulged to the surface and circled the franticly bubbling center that was Sherlock. John watched in horror as the spines disappeared and shortly thereafter the bubbles. After taking a moment to collect his wits about him, John gritted his teeth and swore to the heavens that he would kill Moriarty for this. Face ashen and mouth set firmly, John swung back over the tower’s balcony and made his way down the stairwell to see Moriarty smugly resting against the barrister at the bottom of the stairs. Before John could reach him, however, Moriarty melded into the crowd.

John cursed and scanned the faces of the people, who had turned to him in shock as he was covered in someone else’s blood and had two imperious looking daggers, one in each hand, held out. Furious, he no longer cared if someone saw his face and he took off into the crowd, letting their fear separate the masses and letting him pass through. Moriarty was at the grand entry doors when he turned and saw John rushing towards him. Surprise was etched onto his face as he took off but John was took quick, hauling back the dagger in his left hand and flinging it through the air to hit Moriarty straight in the back, causing the man to stumble and collapse onto the ground.

John caught up with Moriarty, who had turned to lie on his side and admire the blood on his hand. Unperturbed, John hauled Moriarty up and looked him directly into the eyes.

“Why. Why did you have anything to do with him?” John demanded, shaking Moriarty.

Moriarty grinned and leaned his head down to reply, “Because I was bored. I had so much hope for a smart little plaything and I found out he wasn’t even worth my time.”

“What was your involvement with the Initiation then?” John queried as he fought off tears.

“Oh? That. I was hired for that by quite an employer; bored me so greatly thus why I wanted to play with Sherlock.” Moriarty confessed, pursing his lips in disappointment.

John had not even noticed the poison needle Moriarty had drawn out of his coat until it was too late. Moriarty did not aim for John, opting instead to stab the needle directly into his own neck. Almost immediately he convulsed then died, a cruel twisted smile still playing on his lips as froth dripped past them.

John was taken aback and dropped Moriarty’s limp body. Stunned at the sudden confession and suicide, grief once withheld suddenly took hold. He felt grief for everything, including Sherlock, especially Sherlock. John staggered away from Moriarty, instinct the only surging motivational source that caused him to knock off an approaching guard from his horse and take it before climbing atop the beast and riding as fast as he could away from the Saint Bart’s Estate.

\--------------           -----------------            --------------          ----------------           -----------------

John stumbled into the first relatively cheap inn he could find, not caring that there was blood dripping off of him or that there were tear stains over his face. The innkeeper was kind enough for she brought him a basin of water and a set of clean clothes, a set of her son’s he ventured to guess. He stared at the basin of lukewarm water and bar of soap, not wanting to cleanse off the blood for it fueled his rage but then not wanting to keep it on him because it aided kindling to his grief.

Finally, he decided to clean off the blood so he peeled off his clothes and scrubbed himself down vigorously until the blood and grim had been cleaned off. He then washed his clothes and slipped on the set that the innkeeper had given him. The room had a thin mattress tucked into the corner but John did not care for he promptly collapsed into it and allowed himself a quiet moment before letting hot tears course down his face.

He was going to give it all up after this. Was going to give it all up for a happy life with Sherlock and working as an apothecary with Molly since she had always left the option open for him. Now, none of that mattered. He saw Sherlock plummet into the moat and be consumed by the always ravenous crocodiles.

John turned on his side, curling up tightly to himself, and closed his eyes in the hopes of sleep overwhelming him, vowing silently that someday, somehow he would prove himself to be the good man Sherlock saw him as.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose not to put "Major Character Death" for the simple reason of..............  
> #notdead.  
> In the next few days I'll be uploading a bonus chapter that I think will be a good closure to this marvelous fic I've had the fun and honour to write!


	11. Conclusion and Afterword

Sherlock felt his hand slip from the ledge and knew he needed to plummet now or lose his chance.

“I’m sorry, John.” He said, tears coursing down his face at what was to be what John thought an inevitable death.

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath and feigned reaching for a new grasp before allowing himself to under reach and slip, causing him to fall into the moat. He landed in the water with a resounding splash and flailed before sliding under the water, grateful that the impact had relocated his shoulder.  Once under water found the bags that had been tied down with rocks. He quickly pulled out a knife and sliced the bags open so bubbles of water shot upward, imitating drowning. One incident he did not account for was the presence of crocodiles in the moat for he thought they had been long time removed. Slightly panicking as the water became murky from the swirling algae and causing him to lose most of his vision, Sherlock turned and swam as quickly as he could away from the crocodiles which had descended on the blubbering air bags with gusto and were ripping them to shreds.

Sherlock swam around the far side of the estate wall and glanced up to see John temporarily frozen in place, horror written across his face in grooves. Suddenly, he closed his mouth and withdrew from the balcony and Sherlock could only guess that John was now chasing down Moriarty. Sherlock drew in another breath and dove under the water only to arise again on the complete other side of the moat, thankful that the crocodiles were preoccupied with the air bags. He pulled himself up on the bank and felt a hand grab onto his arm.

“C’mon. I can’t lift you all the way by myself.” Molly commented as she tried to drag Sherlock out of the water.

Sherlock used the edge of the moat as a groove and sunk his ankle into the marshy like dirt before hauling himself up onto the bank. Molly quickly threw a towel over Sherlock, who had started shivering from the wet and the cold, and glanced up at the lit windows of the estate.

“Will everything be all right?” She asked, chewing on her bottom lip nervously as she looked at the estate.

Sherlock rubbed his face with the cloth Molly gave to him and followed her gaze, “For us, yes. You can go back to your shop after this but don’t breathe a word to John. Mycroft’s reply to my letter said that the rest of Moriarty’s network needs to be destroyed, a venture I intend to do. For John…he will never be the same but at least he will be safe.” Sherlock watched as nobles fled from the estate, no doubt in fear of whatever havocs John had just wrought, “Let’s go before we’re caught.”

Molly nodded and the two took off towards the opened fencing on the outer regions of the vast estate where Molly had a pair of horses tied to tree. As Molly mounted her horse Sherlock glanced back at the estate one final time. He had not been one much for religion but as he eyed the building a prayer asking for forgiveness slid past his lips as a tear fell from his eye. He turned and mounted the horse, taking off at full gallop without another backwards glance.

 

 

 

 

___________________________________________________________________________________

Two and Half Years Later….

There was a loud knock on the front door as John made his way through the back entry, arms full of crates.

“Mary! Could you answer that please?” John called out to his business partner.

“Sure thing!” Mary replied and John could hear the door be opened followed by the sound of heavy shuffling feet and an exclamation from Mary as she said, “Right this way, love. We’ll get you sorted out.”

John kicked the door shut behind him and went to the storage room on his left, looking around for an available place to stow the supplies.

“John! I need you in here to help me with this customer!” Mary’s voice could be heard coming from the side room of the cabin.

“Alrigt, I’m coming!” John replied, hurriedly setting down a crateful of glass bottles containing fresh herb soothers.

John rinsed off his hands and lower arms in a water basin before making his way to the brick houses’ farthest corridor. The house was not that large, composed of six rooms, one of which that had been turned into the make shift doctor’s room where John was heading.

He emerged to see Mary already unwinding a roll of cloth binding and she motioned to the lean man lying on the bed situated in the middle of the room. John smiled to himself and snatched up the bottle of liquor by Mary’s side and poured some into a skin-flask before lowering its edge to the man’s lower lip. The man did not bother to open his eyes or brush the long scraggly hair from his face but he readily opened his lips.

“C’mon, take a swig. From the amount of binding you are going to require you will need it.” John predicted as he noted the numerous lacerations, some shallow but most deep on the man’s exposed chest and appeared to wrap around to his back.

The man took a few shallow sips of the liquor, sputtering when he took too much of a mouthful. John removed the flask and set it aside, pulling a wet cloth from the basin Mary set down next to him to wipe carefully at the man’s face and push aside the disheveled hair.  When the man felt the hair over his face being moved he opened his eyes and locked them directly onto John’s, causing John to jump back in alarm.

“John? What’s wrong?” Mary asked as she looked between John and the mystery man with concern.

The man sat up in his bed and moved the rest of the hair from his face, revealing sharp angled features and piercing blue eyes amid the bruises and grime.

“Miss me, John?” Sherlock murmured as he grinned wryly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♥ Special thanks to my friend Ashley (guixonlove) and my boyfriend (arpharazon) for helping me in writing this story! It has been fun and self-educating. Thank you also to all my readers who have ventured to this story. I appreciate every single one of you. ♥


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